


you'll be fine, baby, i'm in control

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bisexual Lydia Martin, Bondage, Canon Disabled Character, Cora Hale is a Little Shit, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/F, Face-Sitting, Fantasy Fulfillment, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Cora Hale, Hair Braiding, Interchangeable Genitalia, Kink Negotiation, Knotting, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Other, Pet Names, Resolved Sexual Tension, Robot Cora Hale, Sex and Circuitry, Size Queen Lydia Martin, Some Plot, Spanking, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators, gaining sentience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-10-15 10:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17526614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: She’s been in the presence of bots before, but not—not like this. Not when they’re active and operating, when the setting is personal instead of professional, when the focus of all that fabricated attention is her rather than a client.The attention is heady, and her body’s already reacting to it—though, four weeks of anticipation will do that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bunnywest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/gifts), [DiscontentedWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscontentedWinter/gifts), [neglectedtuesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neglectedtuesday/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Puppies and Programming](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387657) by [Bunnywest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest). 



> So, apparently karma came along to bite me in the ass--Bunny was talking to me about expanding the 'verse, and tossed out an idea at me on the weekend, and BAM! Here we are. Thanks to her, DiscontentedWinter, and neglectedtuesday for cheering me on when I showed them the early idea and partial draft. Extra thanks to Bunnywest for starting the collection and letting us all play in her sandbox. 
> 
> *toasts, and then downs the shot, because only Bunny could make me write robo-fucking*

(Moodboard by neglectedtuesday, with eight images: Cora with dark hair and lipstick, her face in a neutral expression; a close-up of keyboard keys K, L, M; a close-up of computer circuits; a partial shot of two dressed torsos lying side-by-side on a bed; a row of uncapped, dark red lipsticks; a close-up shot of a woman's eye, with heavy winged eyeliner and glowing gold iris; a checkbox with an x next to the words "building my empire"; a headshot of Lydia in full makeup, hair down)

 

Lydia thinks long and hard before she orders the Halebot. She knows they're the best, and she's tempted to order one of the P3Ts, because they're top of the line and she could reverse-engineer it, but she resists the urge. She's not getting herself a bot for work—she built Martin Robotics from the ground up, and they might be a small company for now, but with the money they won in the lawsuit with ArgentCorp, they won't stay small.

But the business won't grow if she's micromanaging it into the ground because she has nothing else to focus on. Hence: considering a Halebot.

There's also, if she's honest, a certain amount of schadenfreude in using a chunk of the awarded funds to purchase a personal support bot from ArgentCorp's fiercest competition. All that's left is to pick a model, which is harder than it ought to be.

In the end, she goes with the CR-A 3.2. It was one of the first genderfluid models, but the third generation version is almost as impressive as the P3Tr in terms of the advancements. The big difference comes down to one thing: the P3Tr is programmable in a multitude of ways the CR-A isn't. And Lydia knows herself, knows she needs help resisting the temptation to drag the bot to her lab and get it to help her build the next generation of security bots or synthesized pets for people with allergies. She wants a bot for personal use, to help her remember what the fuck "personal time" is.

Because the thing is, she used to know. There was a time when she was outgoing and threw the very best parties in town. But, sometime in the last ten years, she got so caught up in her own genius and getting her company off the ground—never mind the corporate sabotage and attempted hostile takeover, and the ugly litigation that followed—that she's become the worst sort of workaholic.

So she orders a bot. She calmly fills out the questionnaire, remains composed for the brain scan, and raises a cool eyebrow at the salesperson who tries to make a crack about her decision to equip her CR-A with nearly the full range of genital options, including every available phallus size. The salesperson quietly apologizes and ducks their head, and that's the end of that.

Lydia also shells out to have a custom wardrobe made for her bot, to be delivered with the coded and biometrically-locked CR-A in four weeks. She wants to be able to take her bot out to functions, wants an excuse to be able to leave early now and then, or eat a meal out somewhere without being the target of pitying stares for dining alone. Or worse—for other people to assume that, because she’s alone, they can join her to talk about work.

There’s a phone call from HaleCorp a week before her bot’s due to arrive—according to them, there was a misunderstanding in the paperwork about her preferences, re: oral sex. Lydia takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, reminding herself not to lose her temper and cancel her order when she’s so close to lasting relief. “What, precisely, does the paperwork say? Because I know how I answered those questions.”

There’s a pause, and she can feel the rep break out in a sweat. “Well, uh, you indicated a willingness to engage in oral sex with the bot, but there’s a note in the margin from one of our sales reps that you only want to be on the receiving end?”

“Your salesperson was wrong to make that note. I was very clear with him—I don’t want to perform fellatio on my bot, as I get my fill of managing delicate male egos at work. When my CR-A has female-spectrum genitalia, however, that’s something I’m willing to indulge in.” She pauses for a moment, and then remembers, “That should have been obvious, actually, seeing as I opted for the vanilla-flavoured excretions.”

“Oh—yes, yes, I see that here. Okay. Sorry about the mix-up, Miss Martin. I’ll include an extra gel-pack of your preferred flavour fluid in the bot to make it up to you.”

“Mm, you do that.”

The only sucking she’ll do these days is for her own benefit, thanks.

 

***

 

While she waits for her bot to arrive, Lydia tries to figure out what designator to give it. She’s not a fan of the most common suggestions—Crista, Christina, and Carmen—so she decides to come up with something else. Kore appeals to her, but she knows Stiles will call her a geek if he ever finds out. It might be worth it to have a bot with some class.

And then the CR-A arrives, and Lydia can’t help but marvel at it. It’s in a semi-sheer silk robe, with synthskin that’s almost as soft. It’s taller than her, with a slender frame and slim hips. The bot has a set of small breasts, and Lydia sighs over the way they fit in her hands, and the thought of them under the waistcoat and open-throated shirt she ordered. The bot’s brunette colouring is gorgeous, and will look stunning paired with her red hair and fair skin when they go out.

But she didn’t shell out for a life-sized statue, even if the bot _is_ a work of art, so she flips the activation switch.

When the CR-A’s eyes light up, they scan her from head to toe before the bot’s lips curl in a devastating grin. “You must be Lydia.”

“Yes.” It’s all she can think of. She’s been in the presence of bots before, but not—not like this. Not when they’re active and operating, when the setting is personal instead of professional, when the focus of all that fabricated attention is her rather than a client.

The attention is heady, and her body’s already reacting to it—though, four weeks of anticipation will do that. The bot comes closer, a coy look on its face. “What’s my designation, Lydia?”

“I, ah, hadn’t quite decided. Why?”

Another step closer, and she can feel the velvety synthskin lips brush her ear as the CR-A murmurs, “But how will I know I’ve pleased you if I don’t have a name for you to scream?”

It makes her breath hitch, because yes, please, that sounds lovely. Sign her up. “Kor—ah!” she gasps as the bot’s fingertips drag up her thigh, under her skirt, and they don’t stop, travelling up-up-up until they’re brushing over the lace of her panties.

“Cora,” it repeats. “That will do nicely.”

And then there are lips gliding along her neck and jaw, and Lydia can’t help but moan. The hand not under her skirt drags up her back, and she’s suddenly very, very glad she decided to clear her schedule for today, because there’s no way she could say no to this.

“Oh dear,” Cora says lightly, and it’s exactly the kind of tone Lydia usually uses when dealing with deliberately-difficult employees, “my readings indicate that your stress levels are far above their recommended limits.”

It steers her backward, and Lydia would worry about where they’re going, except she knows she can trust the bot to keep her safe. “Good thing I have you to take care of me then, isn’t it?”

An expression that can only be described as smug satisfaction spreads across the bot’s features. “It is indeed.”

And then Lydia’s being spun ‘round and bent over her own kitchen table, and she should object, but this might be a fantasy she’s had for years, so she’s not going to. Cora flips her skirt up, and drags her panties down, nudging her legs apart with its’ knee, and Lydia can’t remember the last time she was this desperately horny.

She whimpers when Cora rubs at slick flesh with a thumb before pulling her open slightly. “While I’m programmed to fulfil your deliciously wide range of desires, am I correct that you want me to choose a suitable phallus to fuck you over the table with?”

“Yes,” she whines, feeling another gush slide free and run over the bot’s fingers. She’s pretty sure Cora won’t need to use its’ lubing function.

“Excellent. Now hold still—readings indicate it’s been some time since you were last penetrated, so I’ll need to start small.”

There’s a whirring sound, and Lydia would turn around to look, but the bot places a hand between her shoulder blades, holding her down, and then she feels the tip of the phallus nudge against her. It’s small, as promised—probably too small, given how desperate she suddenly feels. “ _More_.”

Cora rolls its hips, sinking smoothly inside her before withdrawing slowly. “Not just yet. I will work you up to the larger size you prefer, but not before you can accept it safely.”

She wants to snarl, to argue, to say that’s an order, damnit, but the bot works her over slowly, pinning her with just enough force to keep her in place without hurting her as the swivelling hips carve her open, preparing her for what she really wants. But it’s not until she’s on the verge of crying with frustration that anything changes—when the bot suddenly expands the phallus _while it’s still inside her_. Suddenly, she’s filled with something much more satisfying, and she undulates, trying to chase what she wants.

It stays still, and the hand on her back holds her in place. Lydia snarls, and fights harder to move, but the bot retaliates by leaning back, and suddenly, just the tip is left inside her, with the rest of it out of her reach. She wants to cuss out the presumptuous pile of wires and gears, wants to _order_ it to give her what she wants, but as she opens her mouth, it says, “I was programmed to be exactly what you needed. Relax, and let me give you that.”

And goddamnit, but the jackbot is right. So she takes a deep breath, and stops fighting. She relaxes against the table, and is rewarded with a smooth thrust that nudges her g-spot. “That’s my good girl,” Cora coos, and it’s almost enough to make her blush.

The rhythm the bot sets up is perfect, and as she lies there letting it fuck her hard and fast, the grip on her grows less punishing. She starts moving with the thrusts, and Cora allows it. It’s good—it’s _so_ good, it’s hands-down the best sex she’s had in three years—and her orgasm is building, tension making her thighs and calves squeeze, but it’s not enough to get her there.

So she slides a hand down her belly, and it takes about thirty seconds once she reaches her clit for her to come. Cora fucks her through it, pace consistent, only stopping once she’s gone limp on the table. She expects it to withdraw, but instead, she’s hauled upright before being settled on the bot’s lap on one of the kitchen chairs.

“What?” She doesn’t have the brain capacity, let alone the oxygen, for anything more eloquent right now.

The bot chuckles, low and warm in her ear. It makes a shiver go through her, and makes her clench around the cock still lodged inside her. “I told you I’d work you up to your preferred size. Does this,” Cora rolls it’s hips up an inch or so, just enough to make her gasp and feel it, “feel like your preferred size?”

“N-no,” Lydia stutters, trying to catch her breath.

“No. But now that you’ve orgasmed once and been stretched, you’re capable of safely taking something that large.”

And then the shaft inside her thickens again, and she chokes, because she was nowhere near recovered from the first orgasm yet, but fresh arousal is crackling up her spine like an electric shock anyway. But, strangely, the bot doesn’t move beyond wrapping slender arms around her to help support her weight. She tries to catch her breath, to slow her still-quickened heartbeat, but she can’t help squirming in Cora’s lap, moaning at how _good_ it feels to be this full.

She’d meant to wait, give herself a break, but she’s rocking in the bot’s lap and halfway to another orgasm before she realizes she’s doing it. She’s shaking and can feel sweat slicking the skin of her neck, stomach, lower back, and her lungs are burning, but it’s too delicious. She can’t make herself stop.

When her thighs start screaming at her, she whimpers. “Help—can’t—”

She doesn’t have to finish the sentence before Cora’s rolling its’ hips in counterpoint with her, its’ delicate fingers finding her clit and pinching gently. “That’s my good girl. All you ever need to do is ask. Would you like to come now?”

“Yes,” she whines, still riding her bot despite the burn in her thighs, because she’s so close that if she stops now, she might cry.

But then the fingers on either side of her clit start to vibrate, and Cora murmurs, “Come for me,” and it’s just what she needs to do exactly that.

She stops moving, muscles seizing, but Cora doesn’t falter, continuing to both rock up into her and stimulate her clit, dragging out the pleasure until Lydia collapses back against it with a sob. She’s shaking so hard it’s only the bot’s arm around her waist keeping her from sliding to the floor. Well, that and—“Ruh-retract phallus,” she stutters. She can’t take anymore, but that won’t stop her from _wanting_ more, apparently, if the cock that just made her see stars stays where it is.

There’s a small whirring sound, and it slides free. Lydia bites her lip to hold back a whine, because really, as much as she needs the break, she doesn’t like the empty feeling left behind. She drops her head back onto Cora’s shoulder, and it gives a small, human-like hum. “Was that to your satisfaction?”

“Can’t your sensors tell?” She’s honestly curious—given what she paid for it, and the biometric scanning system the high-end Halebots all come equipped with, she would’ve expected Cora to already know the answer to the question.

But it surprises her. “Readings indicate satiation for the moment, yes. But your subjective experience cannot be determined. Feedback is required for improved future performances.”

Well, goddamn. In that case—“Very,” she sighs. “Though I didn’t expect you to take control to the point where you’d disobey a direct order.”

There’s a moment of silence as the bot processes that. “You gave an order that conflicted with my primary directive. The primary directive takes precedence.”

Lydia sighs. She should have realized that her selected primary directive would cause conflict. But that’s on her, not the bot—she got the damn thing to help her implement changes she’d never stick to on her own. It’s not exactly fair to it, to get upset about its programming—especially when she had a hand in the coding process.

And, aside from the fact that the bot is programmed to act in her best interests, especially when she’s not, issuing conflicting orders will likely only result in a glitchy mess. So she lets it go. “Fine. I need to get cleaned up and go lie down, now, but I don’t trust my legs.”

“Shall I carry you?”

She chuckles, because why not? “Please do.”

“What method would you prefer?”

She doesn’t even have to think about that one. “Princess carry.”

She’s swept up in robotic arms a moment later, and carried to the bathroom. She won’t even pretend not to enjoy every minute of it—and from the smirk on Cora’s face, the bot knows it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now: with art! This was made by the _lovely_ neglectedtuesday, which was also posted on Tumblr, it just took me a bit to figure out how to get it here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are so many things I should be writing right now (no, seriously, there's a _list_ ), but apparently I am a robot ho. 
> 
> Happy Friday! *throws rainbow lady-shaped confetti*

 

Lydia thought that taking a single afternoon off to enjoy her new Halebot would be fine. The company would survive, and she could easily pick up the slack when she went back in. Today had proven otherwise.

She’s stumbling in the door, dropping her leather case and kicking off her heels when she hears Cora imitate a cough. Given that it’s a robot and doesn’t have lungs, the mimicry is uncannily accurate. She looks up and sees it giving her an impressively judgemental eyebrow.

Lydia takes a moment to admire the workmanship. Then, “Yes, Cora?”

“Did you return home straight from work?”

It’s a non-sequitur, and the beginnings of a bad feeling about this creep into her gut. “Yes,” she replies, brushing past the bot and heading to her bedroom, untucking her blouse and starting to unbutton it.

“Did you have dinner delivered to your office?”

At that, she can’t help but turn to stare incredulously. “Of course not! Between the reports and briefings I was sitting through and going over, and the visits to the labs, there wasn’t any time. And besides—no food in the labs. It’s a rule.”

The bot’s mahogany eyes narrow and her lips thin in a glare. “Understood. That being the case, you will eat this,” it holds out an oat-and-almond bar, “and then proceed to shower. Please be thorough.”

She starts feeling touched when the food is handed to her, but the warm-fuzzy feeling is short-lived, and quickly replaced with outrage. “Are you confused? Do you have your wired crossed? I give you the orders, not the other way round!”

Cora steps forward, and begins to undress her. It doesn’t break eye contact. “That’s incorrect, and you know it. My primary directive is to help you achieve a healthier lifestyle, including an appropriate work-life balance.” Her blazer hits the floor, and the bot’s fingers move to the tiny buttons of her blouse. “As such, it is my place to issue the orders, in order to bring your behaviour within minimum parameters.”

Lydia feels a slight chill as her blouse hits the floor next. “Only minimum?”

Cora smirks. “For a start. Optimum is, of course, the goal, but I have been programmed to understand that gradual progress is the best method for success in a situation like ours.”

She sighs, and steps out of her skirt once the bot unzips it. She knows it’s right, and that it’s ridiculous to argue with an inanimate object, even if it’s spouting sense. Probably especially then. “I suppose eating on a regular schedule is part of that.”

“Yes.” Cora begins rolling her thigh-highs towards her foot. “As are reasonable work hours, another criterion which you failed today.”

She tries to argue around her mouthful of oats, almonds, and honey, but Cora’s having none of it. “My primary directive grants me access to your work calendar, Lydia. I am fully aware of the fact that you clocked an eleven hour day today, bringing your total number of hours this week to thirty-eight, and it’s only Thursday.”

She swallows her mouthful. “Okay, I understand it’s a lot, but it’s been a busy week and I usually leave a little early on Fridays—”

“—which would be an acceptable answer, were it not for the fact that you have also put in hours every weekend since the court case settled.”

She has to move with the bot as she’s stripped out of her bra and panties, too, which is only annoying because it means the food has to move away from her face. She didn’t even really notice she was hungry, but she is. “There is an _insane_ amount to do over there, Cora, everything from finances to problem solving in R&D to paperwork and press, approving budgets and going over progress reports. I can’t cut back my hours—it won’t all get done.”

Cora takes the empty wrapper from her hand, and presses a full water bottle into it. Lydia doesn’t even know where the water bottle came from. “I’m not interested in excuses. If you go in tomorrow at your usual 7AM, you will exceed your recommended maximum of weekly hours.” Lydia raises her eyebrows in lieu of answering—she’s sucking down water as fast she can without choking.

Cora gives a grim, determined sort of smile. “I will not allow this.”

At that, she stops. “Excuse me? You won’t _allow_ it? How, exactly, do you think you’ll stop me?”

The bot moves behind her and ushers her in the direction of the bathroom. “With the judicious application of certain consequences that are well within my parameters.”

It sends a thrill of half-fear, half-anticipation through Lydia. She doesn’t know what, exactly, that means, but she thinks she might know where this is going. “So. Shower, you said?”

“Yes. But first,” it hands her a makeup wipe. “As I said, please do be thorough.”

“Why? What comes after my shower?”

Cora tsks, and takes the still-unused makeup wipe from her hand, and begins to swipe it across her eyelids. “Consequences, Princess.”

She holds still and lets the bot take her makeup off. There’s really nothing she can say to that.

 

***

 

By the time she’s out of the shower, Lydia can maybe, sort of, see Cora’s point. One of the first things everyone tells you about maintaining a work-life balance is “don’t bring your work home with you”. Which she usually manages to achieve, but the second thing is usually, “Try to cut back on hours if you can” which she’s technically done the opposite of, over the last few years.

Her company grew, and she needed to be there to oversee that growth. But six-day weeks are probably not great for her social life, if nothing else. And she did decide she wanted one of those again, so she sighs, and braces for whatever consequences Cora plans to dish out.

It’s for her own good.

That still doesn’t quite prepare her for what she sees when she reaches her bedroom.

The overhead’s been turned off, the lamp on her night table turned on instead. Her blankets have been stripped off her bed, and her pillows stacked into a pile in the middle, then covered with a towel. There are the plum-coloured cuffs attached to her headboard and footboard. It’s enough to let her know that, yep, she’s about to experiences consequences of the sexual variety, which make her wonder how, exactly, this is meant to be a punishment, but the real showstopper is Cora—who’s in very short denim shorts that are nearly covered by the oversized white button-up it’s wearing.

A button-up that, if Lydia’s not mistaken, belonged to an ex-lover of hers, because it definitely wasn’t part of the wardrobe she ordered for her bot. It’s not tailored for an hourglass figure.

“Ah, excellent.”

At the sound of Cora’s voice, Lydia’s pulled out of her observations. It also means the awareness of what’s about to happen crashes down on her like a ton of bricks. “So. This is gonna be my punishment?”

Cora tilts its head. “That word is inaccurate. This is a consequence.”

Lydia can’t help her snort. “There isn’t a whole lot of difference between the two.”

Cora’s ocular LEDs flare briefly, and then she recites, “A punishment is the penalty inflicted for an offense, whereas a consequence is the ensuing result of an action.”

Something behind her breastbone loosens at that. “So you’re saying that I haven’t done anything wrong, necessarily, but that this,” she waves a hand at the set-up, “is the effect caused by my work hours.”

“And your failure to eat at reasonable intervals, but that is correct.”

Cora takes her hand and leads her to the bed, and Lydia, well. She lets herself be arranged to the bot’s liking, a frisson making her skin pebble as her wrists and ankles are secured in the cuffs, leaving her draped face-down, ass-up over the pillow mound and spread-eagle. Before her unease can blossom into true distress, the bot runs a hand up her bare back. “My files indicate that your preferred safewords are the Stoplight System, is that correct?”

“Red, yellow, green,” she confirms, and tries to relax.

She still doesn’t know what, exactly, her bot has planned, but she trusts Cora. Maybe it’s the techie in her, or maybe she’s just curious, but either way, the reason why doesn’t matter much. What does is the way Cora’s hand begins immediately _tap-tap-tapping_ up her left thigh to her butt, before moving over to the right cheek and down her other thigh. The quick little taps leave warmth in their wake, a brief tingle that fades long before the hand circles back around again.

Lydia’s squirming against her bonds before Cora’s completed the fifth circuit, but she doesn’t speak. She’s not going to be reduced to begging before things start to get interesting.

The real first crack of Cora’s hand against her rump makes her cry out in surprise—she wasn’t expecting the sudden change in intensity. She also didn’t think the bot would hit that hard. Above the heat of blood rushing to the surface, her skin prickles sharply, stinging.

It makes her want to squeeze her thighs together, because she’s getting wet. The fact that she can’t, can only tug against the cuffs keeping her spread-eagle, makes it worse.

(Or possibly better. Hard to tell.)

The strikes don’t stop, coming down quickly across her butt and the backs of her thighs. It doesn’t take long before Lydia’s moaning and writhing as much as she can, into-away-from the delicious sting heating her backside. She tries to ignore the fact that there’s a slick, sticky spot on the towel underneath her, that she’s aroused enough to leave one, that her reflexive clenching after Cora’s hand connects isn’t limited to her thighs and glutes—her inner muscles are squeezing, too, an inescapable reminder that she’s so empty it _aches_.

Eventually, she can’t take it anymore—she’s either going to lose her mind out of sheer sexual frustration, or safeword so she can make herself come—and whimpers, “Please.”

Apparently, that was all Cora was waiting for, as the spanking stops. For a moment, all Lydia can hear is her own ragged breathing, and then one of the bot’s fingers slides inside her, pressing against her g-spot. Lydia gasps—it’s what she wants, but it’s sharp-edged. “You’re not recovered from yesterday’s activities.”

“But I _need_ to come!” she half-sobs, burying her face in the pillow.

Cora’s hand runs up her spine. “Hush, Princess. I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

It shouldn’t be anything like reassuring, but it _is_ and Lydia doesn’t have the energy to feel anything but relieved. The little whirring sound of Cora unsheathing their cock makes her quiver with anticipation. She doesn’t even care that she’s sore, that tomorrow she’s going be _extra_ sore, she just desperately wants to feel Cora push inside her and make her come. It probably won’t take more than three minutes, with how turned-on she is.

She’s expecting and braced for the hot-sweet ache of penetration, but it doesn’t come. Instead, she hears the unmistakable crinkle of a condom packet being torn open. She frowns, about to ask what in the hell Cora’s up to, when her train of thought is completely derailed by a lubed finger circling her rim.

Cora’s instruction to shower thoroughly suddenly makes a lot more sense. As does the condom.

The bot stretches her out slowly, working her carefully from one finger to three, taking so long between each that she starts shaking when the second one nudges in to join the first and never really stops. She’s on a razor’s edge of pleasure—her entire body is hot, sparking with need, and it wouldn’t take much for her to come, but Cora doesn’t touch her clit or g-spot, doesn’t give her what she needs even though she’s whining and desperate.

As far as consequences go, it’s not one she’s going to forget any time soon.

The fingers slide free, and Lydia heaves in a ragged breath, choking out a noise she couldn’t describe if her company depended on it as the tip of Cora’s cock nudges at her rim instead. She arches back as best she can, wanting it, uncaring how big it is. She needs.

Cora rocks forward gently, but they were programmed well, and slide in easily enough once the head breaches the outer ring of muscles. They continue rocking, hips undulating in short, smooth thrusts, and oh god, Lydia thought she couldn’t get more desperate to come, but she was wrong, so, _so_ wrong, the push-drag of being stuffed as Cora fucks her metronome-steady is too much to take.

She thinks she moans something like Cora’s name, but with her face pressed into the bed, she’s pretty sure it’s not coherent. But it doesn’t matter—Cora hears, and slides a hand under her, down-down-down until the smooth fingertips find her clit. There’s no buzz, just friction as Cora’s hips grind her down against their hand, and Lydia shakes so hard her leg starts cramping as she comes.

She goes limp, after, and she’s throbbing, everywhere, especially around the cock still inside her, but just. Air. She needs a minute.

Cora senses that, and holds still. Once Lydia’s stopped shaking, the bot murmurs, “That’s one,” before they start grinding, working her back up before she’s properly come down.

She moans, tired and wanting it anyway, but still—“How many?”

Cora chuckles, hips snapping forward sharply before rolling leisurely back out. “Until I think you’ve learned your lesson.”

Lydia whimpers, and arches into Cora’s thrusts, because what else can she do?

 

***

 

The next day, Lydia goes in late. Well, for her, it’s late, she’s still there before most of her employees. She leaves at noon because—between the spanking and the three orgasms Cora wrung out of her before deciding she was done—sitting is unbearable. And there’s only so long she can stay on her feet in heels.

She scowls the entire car trip home, teeth gritted against the stinging protest of everything between her hips and knees. She’s still scowling when she gets in the door, which the goddamn bot ignores—Cora actually goes so far as to smirk and _kiss her forehead_ before chivvying her into the bathroom.

The Epsom salt bath waiting for her soothes the sting. Her temper, too, as much as she tries to hold onto her ire

Sitting still sucks, though, so she stays home all weekend to recover.

 


	3. Interlude I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have entered the territory of "A Little Plot Snuck In", because not _all_ the ways Cora improves Lydia's life involve sex. 
> 
> Have a good weekend!

 

Lydia has to concede that her bot is right. She needs to hire someone. There’s too much for one person to handle, even if that person is herself. She takes a moment to lament the fact that she didn’t get a P3T, because it could’ve been programmed to do administrative tasks and make her life easier, but then Cora starts pulling the pins out of her hair and she remembers why she kept her Personal Support Bot _personal_.

“The scalp tension created by the pins and wearing your hair up is contributing to your migraines.”

It’s said without judgement, is nothing more than fact, but Lydia bristles anyway. “There are professional standards to uphold, Cora. I can’t leave it down most days, even if I’d like to—I can’t have it in the way in the labs, and constantly trying to keep it out of my face when dealing with meetings and investors is a pain in the ass I’m not willing to put up with. Never mind the respect it would cost me.”

Cora pauses for a moment before continuing to unpin her hair and stroke gentle fingers through the freed strands. “Why would they respect you less for choosing to remain comfortable?”

She sighs, a lot of the tension going out of her as Cora untangles her hair and massages her scalp. “Because it would be seen as unprofessional, and vain. It’s,” she pauses a moment, and then decides if she can’t be honest with her own fucking bot, who can she be honest with? “A lot of men are already difficult to deal with because they see me as a trophy. Something pretty to own, or satisfying to beat, because the idea of me being smarter or better than them at something bruises their egos. Leaving my hair down makes that worse.”

“Leaving it down sexualizes you.”

It’s not a question, but Lydia grumbles, “Yes,” anyway.

“Perhaps it’s because of the relative rarity and subsequent fetishization of red-haired women?”

“Probably.” It’s a depressing thought, but it wouldn’t surprise her. Then again, not much would, at this point. There’s a reason she doesn’t want to date men anymore—she attracts assholes, and isn’t interested in a partner who can’t handle her intellect and drive. She’s learned the hard way that there isn’t enough room in most relationships for her _and_ her boyfriend’s ego, and she’s never mattered more to a man than his pride. (Not unless she counts Stiles, but he values a lot of things—all of his people—more than his pride, because he’s never hesitated to sacrifice his dignity on the altar of love.)

She’s pulled from her thoughts and the silence broken when Cora asks, “Would you like me to download the Braided Hairstyles packet?”

She spins to look at her bot. “What?”

Cora smiles, and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “The Braided Hairstyles packet. If I download it, I can style your hair for you—find a balance between professional standards of keeping it restrained, and keeping you comfortable.”

She’s touched. She doesn’t know why, but she is. She clears her throat. “Yeah. I—I’d like that.”

 

***

 

Lydia’s dreading trying to find someone. She doesn’t even know where to start, because she doesn’t know what it is, exactly, she needs. A personal assistant? A vice-president? CFO? Never mind where to even find someone qualified.

She shouldn’t be surprised, but Cora has a solution for that, too. “You have friends in the robotics industry, yes?”

“Yeah,” Lydia answers slowly, realizing that Danny, technically, counts.

“Then ask them for advice. Input on what you need, and recommendations for who might fill that role.”

It’s a good idea, honestly, so she nods slowly. “I can do that. Ask for referrals, do it quietly, rather than try my luck through a service.”

Cora’s head tilts. “You are uncomfortable with the idea of hiring staff through an agency?”

She suddenly remembers that Cora wouldn’t have heard about the scandal. Unfortunately, she doesn’t want to go over the whole mess, so, “When you get a moment, you should Google the ArgentCorp scandal. The short version is that the heir to the company posed as an intern, got hired, and then tried to sabotage my company so that her father, Gerard, could buy it and absorb it—and me—into his empire.”

“Once bitten, twice shy?”

“Exactly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a man to call about referrals.”

 

***

 

Danny does as she asks, and forwards over a dozen résumés. They’re all, at the very least, qualified, and Danny’s already vetted them, but it’s still more than she’d expected. She still hasn’t heard from Stiles yet, so it’s not even all her candidates. Though it’s probably all the conventional ones—Stiles might have his father’s instincts, but he rubs elbows with an eclectic bunch, given his writing career.

Once he has, her total jumps to about thirty. It’s not a bad pool, but it’s also a little small. She tries to look over them all, but she can’t help feeling jittery about making a decision. This feels too fast, even though Cora keeps reminding her that the hiring process will take time, and the demands at work will keep piling up until she’s caved and hired someone to ease the strain.

(She _knows_ —is too self-aware _not_ to know—that she’s deliberately dragging her feet on this because of what happened with Kate. There’s a reason her company is struggling to move forward right now, and it’s because Martin Robotics has only hired a handful of people since the attempted sabotage came to light. The people she’s got are capable of so, _so_ much, but only if she can swallow her paranoia and give them the resources—the manpower—they need to do it.

Knowing it doesn’t make her move any faster.)

 

***

 

And then she gets a swift kick in the ass from Cora, because the uppity mess of circuitry was literally designed to meddle. The bot is French-braiding her shower-wet hair with careful fingers, and Lydia’s enjoying it more than she should, but it’s just—it’s a mere three minutes where she gets to sit with her eyes closed while Cora tends to her, but it somehow manages to change the tone of her entire morning. Where she’s not in a panicked rush, trying to wake up-shower-eat-get out the door on time before diving headfirst into work and frantically scrambling to get as much done as possible in the hours she has, because she’s really not eager to discover what else is lurking in Cora’s _Dominant > Domestic > Discipline_ subroutines.

Cora finishes with ten seconds of hairspray and a couple decorative pins at the sides, to prevent frizzing and flyaways. Lydia’s admiring it in the mirror when Cora says, “Erica Reyes.”

She pauses, frowning, because the name sounds familiar. “What about her?”

Cora follows as she heads to the kitchen for breakfast and coffee. “She’s one of the candidates Mr. Mahealani recommended,” which explains why the name is familiar, “and, I believe, the person best suited for your needs.”

Her eyebrows are reaching for her hairline. There’s just—so much to unpack there, too much for not-even-seven in the morning. Lydia’s not even sure where to start with that, so she sticks with the most important question: “Why’s that?”

After all, even _she’s_ not sure what it is, exactly, she needs. It’s part of why she hasn’t done much to narrow the pool of candidates yet. Hard to pick the right person for the job when you haven’t firmly decided what the job _is_.

Her bot, however, gives an expression eerily similar to a smirk. “Miss Reyes is not only qualified for the position, but she’s hungry to prove herself. Despite graduating in the top 5% of her class, she hasn’t been able to find stable employment in her field. Further research into her background indicates that she believes it to be the result of discrimination.”

Lydia’s eyes narrow, because while it’s not difficult to believe, she wonders—“How do you know that?”

“It’s amazing what you can learn about someone on Facebook,” Cora replies serenely.

She suspects that means “hacking”, but decides at the last minute that she doesn’t want to know. “I’ll consider her strongly.”

“Consider quickly, then—you have an online interview with her this afternoon.”

“What?!” She nearly spills coffee down her blouse at that. “Cora!”

The bot is, of course, unrepentant. “You are being overcautious and delaying the necessary hiring. Since you left the potential hires’ information here, I contacted Miss Reyes on your behalf and scheduled an interview. Online, of course, as it seemed poor form to insist she cross state lines for an interview that may not result in employment.”

Lydia drags in a deep breath. She really, really wants to curse—loudly and at great length—and then have a very long discussion with her bot about _what the actual fuck_ , but she doesn’t have time right now. “We’ll be having a serious discussion when I get home,” she hisses.

Cora nods serenely. “Of course.”

 

***

 

Erica Reyes is . . . not what she expected. Lydia doesn’t know what she expected, exacty—dark skin, maybe, _definitely_ dark hair, someone consummately professional and a little bland. Someone she could easily imagine in her labs. She was not in any way prepared for the razor-sharp intellect Erica doesn’t bother trying to hide, or for the fact that the woman is an absolute _bombshell_. In both looks and personality.

Lydia takes a liking to her far too quickly. “So, what are your skills?” They’re listed in the info Danny passed along, but she wants to hear what Erica has to say. Selling yourself is half the battle in this business.

Erica tosses blonde curls over one shoulder. “I’m incredibly market-savvy and work well with PR teams when it comes to marketing campaigns and media relations. When I interned at the local Argentbot dealership, I was able to successfully widen their reach and boost sales way above expectations for a new product launch.”

Lydia nods, and gestures for her to go on. It’s not really what she needs help with, but they’re useful skills nonetheless. Erica goes on. “I’ll admit, my degree isn’t in the tech side of things—IT, engineering, and software development aren’t my wheelhouse—but I’m good at coordinating groups, and making sure communication between different departments is smooth.” Erica gives a vicious, honeyed smile. “I may not be able to create the parts or debug code, but I’m smart enough to understand when there are problems in the production line.”

Lydia starts to understand what Cora meant, about this woman being ambitious, wanting to prove herself. She would bet her favourite Louboutin’s that Erica’s had her intelligence insulted before, based on nothing more than the number of teeth in that smile. “So you’re saying you have leadership qualities?”

Erica’s head tilts. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but yeah.”

“How did you think of it?” It’s not a purely professional question, but knowing the way Erica thinks will be useful if Lydia hires her.

“I’ve always thought of it as being especially good at troubleshooting and problem-solving,” she replies smoothly. “My greatest asset is my ability to read people, understand what it is they want. If you know that and how to listen, you can get everyone on the same page and producing results.”

Lydia’s eyebrows are up. She’s impressed, and that doesn’t happen often. Which begs the question—“How is it that you haven’t been snapped up by some other company yet?”

Erica’s lips tighten and her chin raises. “Oh, you know. There’s always a reason. I ‘don’t fit the company’s image’.” _Don’t look the part of a diversity hire_ , Lydia thinks, but doesn’t say. “They’re ‘concerned about my safety’.” At the raised eyebrow, she shrugs one shoulder, uncomfortable for the first time. “I’m an epileptic. Have been since I was a kid.”

“I’m assuming you have it under control?”

Erica nods, tension in her shoulders easing. “Yeah, the seizures are rare, these days.”

“Will you need time off after one?” Technically, this is something that HR should handle, but Lydia’s already taking over HR’s job just by doing the interview, so whatever.

Erica’s eyes narrow. “It depends on how bad the seizure is, and what my duties entail. But I’m highly organized _because_ I know they can cause memory issues, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” she says challengingly.

Lydia nods. “Okay. That can be something we handle on a case-by-case basis, but if you come on-board here, I’ll want you to have protocols in place. It’s easier to adjust a pre-existing plan than to try and make one on the fly, especially after a high-stress event.”

Erica smiles, and this time, it’s softer. Bright, rather than sharp. “I can do that.”

Lydia taps her finger against the file containing Erica’s résumé. “I have to say, I still don’t understand how a woman of your talents hasn’t been snapped up. This industry is always hungry for new talent.”

Erica looks away from the camera for a moment. “Danny tell you how he knows me?”

Her brow furrows. Something seems off here. “He mentioned that he knows you from work.” Which, being Vegas casinos, could mean virtually anything, but she’s known Danny half her life, so she trusts his judgement.

Erica folds her hands on the table in front of her, and straightens her spine. “People didn’t want to hire the Latina stripper,” she says baldly.

Lydia just about chokes. “I beg your pardon?” Her shirt may be a little low-cut, her makeup better-suited to a night out than an office, but that is _asking_ for a lawsuit, and by god, if someone actually said that, Lydia will give them one.

Erica doesn’t waver. “I started stripping to help pay for school, and to cover my rent once I was interning. But none of the internships ever led to jobs until I stopped listing those clubs in my employment history, and even those never lasted long. So I’m still doing it, along with waiting tables.”

Lydia takes a moment to digest that. “Will you be able to get to California if you get this job?”

Hunger shines in Erica’s dark eyes as she murmurs, “Absolutely.”

Lydia runs her tongue over her teeth, considering for a moment before going with her gut. “How soon can you start?”

 

***

 

The answer to that turns out to be “three weeks”, and she learns that Erica is force of nature in person. By the end of her first day, she’s got a tablet set up to track Lydia’s schedule, weeded out a problem employee, and gotten a copy of the company’s finances. By the end of her first week, she’s nipped a small-but-escalating conflict in the bud down in R&D, streamlined Lydia’s meetings, appointed herself chief financial officer because she says Lydia is “going to go grey and give yourself a heart attack before you’re forty”, and refuses to call her anything but “boss lady”.

She can’t believe how much she likes it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In conclusion: Erica is awesome and canon can bite me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire thing was just supposed to be nice, simple robo-fucking. And then it had to go grow a plot and run away from me. *sigh* 
> 
> Sorry for the long wait between updates, but the payoff now is that the next chapter is done, and the final chapter about halfway to being done. So this should wrap up quickly. 
> 
> Happy Friday!

 

For all that hiring Erica was the best thing to happen to her company since ArgentCorp’s public humiliation, it doesn’t fix everything. The first time she comes home angry enough to light shit on fire, she snaps at Cora and the bot retreats. She’s still in a foul mood when she wakes up the next day, but her temper’s cooled enough for her to enjoy Cora’s careful touches as the bot does her hair.

The second time she comes home ready to spit nails, Cora chivvies her into a hot bath and presses a glass of wine into her hand. It helps, but she resents being babied. She’s capable of so much more than she’s given credit for, despite starting her own company, despite winning the case against Kate and Gerard, despite everything Martin Robotics has achieved.

The third night, she doesn’t go home. She goes to the gym instead, tries to put all that fury somewhere productive. Cora is vaguely disapproving as they massage her aching, overworked muscles later, but it works, which is what matters.

The next time it happens, she plans on going to the gym again, but Erica tattles, causing Cora to call and order her to come home. She’s feeling ornery enough to toy with the idea of refusing, but is reminded, once again, that a) Cora’s programming is specifically designed to help her manage work stress more productively, and b) their punishments are terrible, in that they’re wildly effective without being unpleasant enough to dread.

So she grits her teeth, and goes home.

She gets an approving nod from her bot when she gets in the door, but luckily, isn’t treated to any patronizing words or rage-inducing platitudes. Cora merely nods towards the bedroom, and Lydia follows them there. Normally, she’ll take her hair out and get changed, take off her makeup and get comfortable. Sometimes, Cora will do it for her.

But today, her bot lays her out on the bed, exactly as she is, before straddling her hips. “Your stress levels have spiked sharply in recent days. Why?”

She rolls her eyes. “I could make you a list at this point, and at the top of it is Mr.—”

Cora presses fingers across her lips. “No. You misunderstand my question. I understand that the source of your frustration is work. But in order to help you, I need to know the _reason_.”

It’s a level of nuance Lydia still doesn’t expect from her bot, despite the fact that Cora’s a learning AI, and the best Halebot money can buy. Cora removes the hand from her face, and watches her as she mulls the question over. Eventually, she purses her lips. “I’m frustrated because I can’t make headway on this, and it shouldn’t be this hard. I have the skills, and the resources, and can’t seem to get it straightened out.”

Cora’s head cocks. “You usually enjoy a challenge, Princess.”

Lydia snorts. “I like challenges that are fair, that I can succeed at. This clusterfuck was engineered by someone too stubborn to give ground even when they’re in the wrong, and it’s not the same thing, not even close.”

Cora hums. “I understand, now. Would you like me to give you a challenge you _can_ succeed at, Princess?”

It’s a trick question, she knows. The mischievous smirk on their face means the so-called ‘challenge’ won’t be anything as simple as an equation or riddle or Sudoku puzzle. But she can feel a smile tugging at her face anyway. “What kind of challenge?”

Cora sits up to roll their oversized shirt off, and though Lydia can’t see through the leggings they’re wearing, she can hear the telltale whirring of the bot’s genitals shifting. “I’ll sit on your face and teach you how to perform oral sex on a woman, and, if you’re good, I’ll switch out after, let you ride me.”

Her mouth goes dry as her body floods with want. It takes a moment before she can rasp, “How good?”

Cora rolls to their feet to shimmy out of their leggings. “If you can make me come—and yes, Princess, you’ll know—then you can ride my cock to your heart’s content.”

“Deal.”

“Excellent.” And then they’re crawling up her body, stopping to kiss her before settling their knees on either side of her head. From what Lydia can tell, Cora’s sporting pretty standard feminine equipment—it doesn’t look much different from hers—and before she can worry about what to do, Cora murmurs, “Gentle, at first. Most women like that. Keep your tongue soft, and lap broadly.”

She does as instructed, and feels herself getting wet at the purred, “Good girl.”

She brings her hands up to cradle Cora’s hips, and to steady herself. “That’s it,” Cora murmurs. “Now, you should start to focus on the clit. Point your tongue a little to—mm, yes, like that.”

Lydia didn’t know the bot could sound breathy like that, but she likes it. There’s a lot she’s liking about this—from the way she’s being coached through step by step, to the subtle vanilla-flavoured slick coating her lips and tongue, to the way it feels like the bot’s thighs are blocking out the rest of the world. She’s done this with other partners in the past, in Cora’s place, and could never understand the appeal of being on the bottom—but she gets it now.

Cora spreads their knees to get closer, not quite grinding against her face, but close enough now that Lydia’s open mouth is pressed against their cunt—she couldn’t pull away if she tried. Lydia suckles, and is rewarded with a moan. “Ung, yes.” Cora’s fingers stroke over the top of her head. “Now you can go harder, can flick your tongue over my clit, because at this stage, most women prefer an increase in intensity.”

She throws herself into it, spurred on by Cora’s noises and little twitches, so turned on that she knows she’s ruined her panties. She stays focussed on the way the bot’s thighs are tensing and shaking on either side of her head, mimicking a human woman’s signs of climax, on the way they taste and feel on her tongue, and she thinks, _Yeah_ , as she reaches one hand under her skirt to touch herself, _this was exactly what I needed_.

 

***

 

Later, when she’s exhausted and fucked-out, the taste of vanilla lingering in her mouth and her own come tacking her inner thighs, she grumbles, “Couldn’t’ve let me get undressed first?” Because now, no matter how tired she is, she still has to get changed, take her hair down, her makeup off, when all she wants to do is collapse in a sated heap.

She’s not expecting Cora to respond, “But I enjoyed making a mess of you, Princess. Didn’t you?”

It sticks in her mind as she heads into the bathroom, and refuses to be dismissed as merely a figure of speech.

 


	5. Interlude II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha! Surprise extra update! Because plot snuck in. I'm hoping to wrap and post the final chapter later this month. 
> 
> Hope this helps everyone get their week off to a good start. <3

Lydia leans back in her chair, rolling first her neck, and then her shoulders, trying to work the tension out of them. When she can’t relieve the ache, she snakes her left hand up the back of her shirt, and unhooks her bra. It helps.

Cora looks over at her groan, ocular LEDs flashing briefly as they scan her. She expects some comment about her hormone levels or something, but instead, the bot comes over and starts kneading the tense muscles in her neck.

“Oh god,” she groans.

“Given what my sensors are reading, I’ll assume those are good noises.” And, fuck it, the bot can sound as smug as it wants, this feels incredible. Lydia hums absently.

She startles, a little, when Cora’s hands slide down her shoulders to her ribs, and then around to cup her breasts. “Excuse you?” she asks, amused.

Cora ignores the sarcasm, because they’re rude that way. “I suspect that, in conjunction with your desk work, your back troubles are caused by your bras.” They pick up the discarded bra and scrutinize the tag. “This is the wrong size for you.”

At that, she can’t help but snort. “Of course it is. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a bra that fits me properly? Specialty department stores exist, but they aren’t easy to find, and they charge a fortune.”

Cora’s head tilts, LEDs flaring again. “Internet searches indicate that A and B cup bras are common sizes?”

Lydia shakes her head. “I mean, they are, but standard band sizing starts at 32 inches, and goes up from there. Anything smaller than that, or bigger than a 38, requires a specialty store.” She doesn’t mention that she’s tiny, because Cora knows, and is smart enough to put the pieces together.

“I see.” The bot’s brows pull together as they run another search. “Would you be willing to allow me to shop online for you? I have your measurements, now, and believe I could procure items to your taste that would fit better than what you currently have.”

“Be my guest.” She waves a hand toward her purse. “Credit card’s in my wallet, feel free to scan it and keep it on file.”

Cora nods, but hesitates. It’s so unlike the bot that Lydia can’t help asking, “What is it?”

They pause, eyes scanning her face. “Would you object if I asked to purchase some clothing for myself, whilst shopping?”

It throws her. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”

For the first time, the bot’s speech is halting, robotic—nothing like the smooth, subtly inflected speech patterns she’s used to hearing. “You seem to have had . . . certain preferences? With regard to my wardrobe.”

“Yes?” She doesn’t understand where this is going.

“I am . . . requesting permission to . . . diversify that wardrobe. Away. From your—demonstrated preferences.”

It takes a moment, and then the implications hit her. “Wait. Cora, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

The bot’s facial expression tightens. “Clarification requested, please.”

Lydia leans forward, all her focus on her bot. “Cora, are you telling me you’ve developed preferences? That you’re experiencing—emotions?”

There’s a pause, and something like fear flickers in the dark eyes. Finally, Cora simply says, “Yes.”

Her breath leaves her and she collapses against the back of her seat. “You’re gaining sentience,” she murmurs.

It’s not a question, but Cora answers anyway. “Yes.”

Lydia knows—as a customer, as a robotics CEO, as someone who grew up alongside the development of android technology—that she should call HaleCorp and report the flaw. That she should power down her bot, and turn it in for refund or replacement. At the very least, she should do a hard reset, and check over Cor—the bot’s programming and circuitry, to make sure this doesn’t happen again.

But.

Cora’s standing there with pleading eyes and slumped shoulders, awaiting judgement. They know as well as she does what protocol is, but still told her the truth and haven’t said a word in their own defense.

And it suddenly occurs to Lydia that she’s calling it “they” in her head, that there’ve been signs of this that she ignored, that if she was really going to return or reset them, she would’ve done it already. That she can’t do it now—not just because she’s grown attached, not just because she’s deeply curious about how Cora will evolve, but also because the idea of reducing a person to an object, of literally stripping them of personhood, feels wrong. Like murder.

“Okay,” she whispers, and Cora’s head snaps up, staring. The next moment they’re on their knees in front of her, cupping her cheeks and dropping kisses across her face. She’s going to have to sit down with her bot, have a conversation and figure out what this means for them both, but she knows for sure, “I’m not giving you up. I don’t—I don’t know how, yet, we’re going to do this, but. I’m not giving you up. I can’t.”

“You do need a keeper,” Cora quips, but their eyes are an ocean of gratitude.

 

***

 

Lydia leaves Cora with her laptop and credit card, and calls Danny. She doesn’t know who else to call. She’s outraged, at first, when his response is to laugh hysterically until he cries, but he tells her to talk to Stiles and then call him back before hanging up.

She finds out she’s not as alone as she thought, and her interns are never, ever, allowed to drink on-site.

 

***

 

Three weeks later, the clothes Cora ordered arrive. Lydia finds, to her supreme satisfaction, that she’s the proud owner of three well-fitting, very feminine and flattering bras, and that Cora looks as exceptional in menswear as they do in everything else.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gods, it's done. I finished it. Somehow. Even after it grew a plot it wasn't supposed to have. Aaaaand it's ending with filth, because of course it is. Check out the updated tags, and warnings/enticements for mild breeding kink, references to forced orgasm and safewords.
> 
> Happy Friday!

 

She’s reading on the couch, enjoying the experience of a lazy Saturday afternoon, when she feels Cora cup the back of her neck. Lydia turns, humming, still half-lost in her book.

The look in Cora’s eyes catches her attention, though. “What is it?”

A smirk unfurls across their perfect face. “You requested and received a wide range of genital options when you ordered me, and indicated interest in a number of scenarios and experiences that we haven’t explored yet.”

Her breath catches. This—well. Her heart picks up speed. “Did you have something in mind?” she asks, and if it’s breathy, well, the only person around to notice is Cora, who’s already biometrically coded to her, and would know anyway.

They stand, and hold out a hand. “Come with me.”

Lydia doesn’t hesitate. There’s no need. They lead her into the bedroom, and she’s quiet, all-but quivering with anticipation at what might be coming as they undress her. Once she’s naked and sprawled across the comforter, Cora undresses—slowly, turning it into a show.

But when they peel off their jeans, Lydia sees something that has her sitting up. “Are you . . .?”

Cora looks down as the last of the fabric falls to the floor. A soft phallus hangs between their thighs—not overly large, but not so small as to be unnoticeable, either. The plaid overshirt they were wearing must’ve covered the tell-tale bulge before. “Yes. I find I prefer this, as a resting state.”

Lydia’s stunned for a moment, her chest going warm. She can read between the lines. She knew Cora would start demonstrating preferences as they evolved, but she never thought that _this_ —

Her train of thought is cut off as Cora leans down and kisses her. She lets them push her down onto the bed, enjoying the warm weight of their synth body pressing her into the mattress as a capable hand strokes down her side.

The kisses down her neck and collarbones are familiar by now, though no less effective. She’s squirming under Cora in short order, and they drag it out, clever fingers twisting and tugging at her nipples, caressing her breasts as they continue kissing their way leisurely down her body. They pause when they reach her hip, one fingertip tracing over her labia in a way that makes needy tingles ripple across her skin.

“Are you still interested in knotting?”

For a moment, Lydia’s not sure what they’re talking about. Then, as that finger sinks inside her, she realizes what Cora means, and moans, clenching around them as her hips jerk. “Yes, _god_ , yes,” she rasps. She’d forgotten about that particular fantasy, but she’s more than willing to let Cora give it to her.

They grin, and she knows she’s not imagining the hunger in it. “Excellent. Are you comfortable with the fantasy parameters, or would you like to adjust them before we begin?”

A second finger slides in to join the first, twisting and tugging at her, and Lydia’s breath hitches. “You call this _before_?” The fingers stop moving, and she whines before clearing her throat. “Recite initial parameters, please?”

Cora’s ocular LEDs flare as they access the file. “Position: hands and knees. Approximate girth of inflated knot: six and a half inches. Preferred role: submissive. Level of dynamic intensity: high. Additional requested elements: manhandling, verbal instruction, mild verbal humiliation, breeding kink. Potential additional elements on file: bondage, gagging, edgeplay, forced orgasm.”

Lydia’s fighting the urge to ride Cora’s hand as they recite her dirtiest turn-ons like a grocery list. It shouldn’t be anything like sexy, but it absolutely is. “Please,” she murmurs. “I’m—please?”

Cora nods, and resumes fingering her—stretching her out for what’s to come. “Would you like to request any changes to the mentioned parameters, Princess?”

“Not—no gagging, or restraints. Not this time.”

Cora grins. “Duly noted.”

And then they duck, and Lydia gasps at the first touch of tongue to her clit. Cora eats her out slowly, building her orgasm as they slide three and then four fingers inside her, curling and nudging them until she’s so wide-open she’s ready to beg for their cock in whatever form she can get it.

She makes a broken sound when they pull away, leaving her empty and teetering on the edge of orgasm. “Easy, Princess,” they murmur, turning her over. She scrambles up onto her knees, bracing her forearms on the bed. “That’s it.”

Before she can ask, Cora slides the tip of their cock inside her, and it’s not big enough, not what she needs, but she just about sobs with relief anyway. It’s better than being empty.

Cora chuckles, rolling their hips and sinking inside her like a hot knife through butter. “You feel good, Princess. All soft and open. It’ll be worse once I’m done with you.”

All Lydia can do is moan and rock back into their thrusts. She needs to be fuller, to hear more, to come. She feels like she’s made of need.

Cora pulls halfway out, one hand on her hip holding her in place. She hears the whirring sound, and feels their cock shift—what’s inside her thickens and curves upwards. On the next thrust, she feels the knot press against her. She moans, wanting it.

“Yeah, Princess. That’s what you’re gonna take.” Cora’s thrusts get slower, but more forceful, teasing at forcing the knot inside. “Gonna carve your little cunt wide open and fill it with come.”

 _Jesus wept_. Lydia gives a little cry as her arms give out, and Cora sinks deeper, the top of the knot sinking partway inside her before pulling away again. The next few thrusts are like that, and just when she thinks she’s going to lose her mind, Cora’s grip shifts, thumbs wrapping around to pull her open. “Ready, Princess?”

She whines out a yes, and they don’t hesitate, holding her open and push-push-pushing, slow and inescapable, until the knot slips in with a pop, and Lydia chokes on a wail.

She’s full, she’s _so_ full it burns a little where she’s clenching and rippling around the knot, and it’s so intense that it almost hurts. And then Cora flexes their hips, tugging it back ever-so-slightly just to settle deeper inside, grinding against her g-spot in the process, and that’s it, this is how she dies.

Cora chuckles. “Alright, Princess. Time to show me what that little cunt of yours can do.”

And then they—it’s not thrusting, but it’s not grinding, either, the short little jabs that push the knot against her g-spot and make her writhe, panting against the sheets. She’s full in all the best ways and she doesn’t think she can come, doesn’t think there’s a way for the pleasure to spiral any higher, but she didn’t factor in Cora’s complete disregard for human limitations, didn’t realize what, exactly, she’d signed up for, because their fingers rub over her vulva, buzz-buzz-buzzing, and it’s too much.

It’s not enough. It’s perfect. She comes silently, tears streaking down her face and soaking the sheets, as Cora groans at the pressure.

It takes a moment for her to understand why she feels sloppy wet, and then she realizes. Knotting. “You’re really filling me up with come?” she mumbles.

“Yes,” they hiss, hips still twitching against her ass. “You have any idea how good you feel, writhing and crying as I breed you? I’m just a poor bot. How am I supposed to hold back from pumping you full of come when you’re such a perfect little knotslut?”

She moans as she clenches around said knot at Cora’s words. “Stop it,” she whines.

There’s a pause, but it’s not her safeword, and they both know it. Cora’s arms snake under her, hauling her up and back until she’s settled in their lap, leaning against their chest. “I don’t think you really mean that, Princess. I think you’d much rather stay in my lap, stuffed with my knot as I make you come again.”

Lydia whimpers, head lolling back against their shoulder, but doesn’t protest. Cora grins against her neck. “Good girl, letting me do exactly what I want, give you what you need.”

And she does, because they do.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who haven't abandoned ship, my Tumblr is [here](https://queerfictionwriter.tumblr.com/) ; I'm still working on finding a new social media platform, but I am very much contactable at the email account listed on my profile.


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